Crucible Read Online Free

sadness.
    A small body hurtled through the back door and flung itself at the cook, who carried on as if she hadn’t been ambushed by a toddler. “Suze,” she said to the child, “you need to wait for breakfast.”
    â€œBut Miss Cook,” she replied, with perfect toddler logic, “I’m hungry
now
.”
    The cook’s eye twinkled, and her skillful hands moved slightly. A scrap of baked-off pie dough, glazed with honey and spices, magically appeared in Suze’s hand. The child took discreet bites, beaming at her benefactor.
    â€œYou need to wait, wait, wait,” Bree said, putting a little song into the words, drawing Suze over to the fire. The child had a round face, dark curls, and serious gray eyes. Her father, the inn’s newest hostler, had started working at the Crown a month ago. He was a widower, or so Bree assumed, because when she’d asked Suze where her mama was, the child had replied with perfect seriousness, “The Havens.”
    Then Suze had grabbed a handful of Bree’s ashes. Hilarity had, unfortunately, ensued.
    Today, she seemed to respect the buckets of ash, as much because her hand was sticky with honey-crust as having been told numerous times they were “no touch.”
    â€œHow are you this morning, Suze?” she asked.
    â€œHungry.” She finished the last of her pie dough and licked her fingers clean.
    â€œWell, I hear breakfast is soon.” Bree stood up, hauling her buckets with her. “Ystell, I’m off.”
    â€œTake care, love. Come back for supper, if you care. We more than owe you.”
    Bree stopped briefly to claim her cloak from the peg by the door. She kept her head down as she walked outside, past the bake-oven and the stables, passing Suze’s father, Attikas, as she went. The bearded hostler had a similar eyes-downcast way of walking, and they mumbled greetings to one another as they passed. Past him in the stables, she saw Eel the stableboy sweeping out stalls. As a nickname, Eel more than suited his clammy skin and greasy hair. It didn’t help that he clung to Ferrin like . . . well, more a leech than an eel. Either way, she liked him slightly more than Ferrin, which was to say: not at all.
    Dinner with the Lord Buffoon and his lickspittle?
she thought as she turned down the street toward the soapworks.
I think not.
    And then she heard it: the impossible clip-clop-chime of Companion hooves.
    She froze, clinging to her bucket handles.
    Herald,
she thought.
Oh, gods, finally.
    Two Companions came around the corner. One mare, one stallion.
    Two unbridled, unsaddled Companions.
    Bree’s heart sank.
    They had drawn a small crowd of children and young adults, expressing open curiosity. Bree stepped aside to let them and their entourage pass. The Companions turned into the Crown’s courtyard and approached Eel, who screamed and jumped backward, slamming up against the back of the stall he’d been sweeping.
    Both Companions flattened their ears. The mare snapped at the air. The stallion gave her a reproving look,but the moment her teeth clapped down, Eel’s screaming stopped. She snorted, then pointed with her nose to the stalls.
    Ystell appeared around a corner, berating Eel for his rudeness.
She
at least knew what riderless Companions far from Haven meant—a Choosing, most likely. The cook led the Companions to the widest stalls in the stable, talking to them as she would a paying guest. The crowd dispersed gradually, and Bree went with them.
    No Heralds doesn’t mean no hope.
With every step, she could feel her bitterness fading.
Companions can Mindtalk.
    Bree realized then what she must do.
    I’m going to have to have dinner with Lord Buffoon.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Ystell brightened when Bree stepped into the kitchen. “Bright Lady!” she exclaimed. “You’ve finally come to dinner!”
    Bree inhaled the aroma of rosemary and deeply browned